Fucked Up
by astranauta
Summary: Rick/Morty. Morty cries and Rick hates himself.


When Rick looked down at his grandson, he didn't see the usual wide-eyed, love-stricken gaze that Morty usually hit him with, causing him to roll his eyes and take another swig from his bottle of whiskey. Instead, as he worked away, bucking his hips up into the drooling, whining receptacle, he saw a face twisted in pleasure, mouth hanging open lazily as fluid and breathy moans seeped out. Of course, it was probably those big eyes, that way that Morty stared at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the entire universe- as if Morty could even possibly comprehend anything to that degree- that had gotten them into this position in the first place. It always was. Although he couldn't place his finger on it, that look Morty had in his face was so familiar to Rick. And at this point, it didn't really matter.

" _Nnnnh_ ," Rick could tell Morty was trying to choke something out, but his words came out as pathetic little gasps and gurgles. "R-Rick.."

"You-You like that don't you, bitch," Rick muttered under his breath, enjoying the sounds his grandson was making with each thrust. Grabbing onto the little hips below him, he slammed his cock inside, pausing for a minute with his hips pressed against Morty's ass as his dick twitched, enjoying the warm, tight feeling. He kept going like this, thrusting forcefully forward and digging his nails into Morty's soft skin.

"O-O-Oh shit," His words came out as grunts. Rick was _so fucking close_ and leaned forward over Morty as he got ready to release all the tension- and cum- that had built up inside of him. Opening his eyes, which had been screwed tightly shut in a pleasure response that was totally beyond his control, Rick looked down at the small body below him. Morty's skin was such a soft, milky shade of white and his neck and chest were littered with bruises and bitemarks where Rick had ravaged him before sticking his cock deep inside that little ass. His whole body was trembling, face a deep shade of red at the cheeks and glistening. It took Rick a minute to realize that the sheen on Morty's face did not come from the wet heat of their bodies pressing together, but instead leaked from the corners of his eyes.

"M-Morty," Rick mumbled, almost unable to pull himself back from the edge he'd been about to cross. He stared down at his crying grandson, cock still buried deep. Jesus, how had he not even noticed before? Tears had been streaming down his face and when Rick finally, slowly, pulled out of him the strangled cries delved into soft sniffles and hiccups.

A feeling of dread started to creep up inside of Rick, paralyzing him and standing every hair on his body on end. He stared down at Morty, who seemed dazed and struggled to catch his breath. Rick found himself unable to speak and Morty bridged the silence.

"D-D-Did you cum, Rick? I-I don't feel any-anything," Morty murmured quietly, sending his hand down to check. As his delicate fingers gingerly felt around his hole, he let out a soft whimper, but quickly retracted his hand to wipe at his face. "I-If you want I can. I-I can suck you…" Morty was still painfully embarrassed to talk dirty. Quite apparently, for Morty, modesty never went out the window, even if his grandpa had just gotten finished fucking his ass. Even as he stared up at Rick now, a few stray tears still leaked from his eyes. "R-Rick?"

All the colour, the red heat of passion, had drained from Rick's face though he still hadn't moved from where he stood above Morty. His cock, now completely soft though he hadn't released his load, hung limp between his legs. Morty swore he could feel a cold clamminess coming from Rick, whose legs were still pressed against Morty's own. There was a strange expression on his face, one Morty couldn't identify. Rick began to back away from him, hands falling in front of his dick in a feeble attempt at hiding it. That look, it was _despair_. Self-loathing. Mortification. Panic. Morty had not identified them on Rick right away, but he could tell for sure that he'd seen the same exact faces in the mirror on many occasions.

"W-well, gee, Rick, wh-what's wrong?" Morty croaked, sitting up and reaching out a hand toward his grandpa. Rick backed sharply away from the gesture, looking down at himself before looking back into his grandson's eyes.

"Oh, Jesus, Morty," Was all Rick could muster. His voice creaked out of him, strained. Morty felt deeply uncomfortable seeing his grandfather in this state. "I-I-I'm s-sorry." More words his grandpa, as a point, rarely ever used. Had Morty done something wrong? At a certain point, he'd stopped trying to hold himself back for fear of what he might look or sound like and just let himself go… He thought Rick would like that. But Rick had turned away from him now, slipping quickly back into his pants and searching around desperately for his shirt.

"I-I'm sorry," Morty answered, his voice quiet. "I-I-If I did some-something wrong, Rick." Rick hadn't meant to make him feel like that, it was just… He was finally reminded of why looking down at Morty's face like that felt eerily familiar, like déjà vu. Not like he'd ever _really_ forgotten, just tried his hardest not to think about it, and despite his best effort that strangled feeling he'd had in his own 14 year old body, the whimpers and whines, the hot tears that burned his face remained burned into his memory in vivid detail as if it had happened yesterday. It hadn't occurred to him that one day, _he'd_ be the one grunting and sweating down into a gasping, crying body. He fucked up. He _was_ fucked up.

"I jus- I just need a drink, Morty," He answered gruffly, slipping his sweater over his head and slipping out the door as if none of it had ever happened, as if Morty didn't lay, still naked, with fresh tears stinging at his eyes.


End file.
